The Second Time Around
by ZilchNil
Summary: What happens when Harry, presented with an opportunity to return to the past, charges ahead in true Potter style? With little to no regard of consequences or plans of any sort? Rating is for language and adult situations. I own nothing.
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter blinked.

His ears popped.

Then he blinked again.

The Great Hall had gone deathly silent, and – still quite out of it – he peered around curiously for the reason.

Everyone's eyes seemed to be riveted on the Head Table, Dumbledore in particular. He craned his neck for a better look, finally noticing that the focus wasn't on Dumbledore exactly, but directly in front of where he sat, actually the Headmaster was standing and looking over his table at the floor.

Harry followed his line of sight.

There was a bundle of black robes – professor robes, he noted – along with a bright, purple cloth peeking through as well.

Quirrell.

Troll.

Hermione!

As if his thought process was blared across the wireless, the entire hall erupted in a frenzy of motion, students of all ages panicking.

A few blasts from the end of Dumbledore's wand brought quiet and a small measure of calm among the students. The Headmaster relayed his instructions, but Harry – already knowing the gist of it – was mentally smirking.

He had a monster to slay and a best friend to save.

Like the last time, he made his great escape during their trek to the dormitories, roping in Ron along with him after playing the guilt card.

On the mad rush to the girls lavatory, Harry done a systems check. After all, his - limited - plans would be shot to hell if his full, adult core hadn't followed him back through time.

Fortunately, it did.

Although, instead of replacing his adolescent – and still developing – core like EVERY theory speculated, it melded with it, granting him with two cores and effectively doubling his magical prowess once he reached majority.

Now, Harry had been no slouch in his future, easily holding his own against the likes of Bellatrix LeStrange and Lucius Malfoy, but he was quickly overwhelmed when pitted against Voldemort and in his duels with Dumbledore. But TWO of him, THAT would and will be a force to reckon with, considering his natural reflexes, magical aptitude, and the unparalleled ability to survive damn near anything.

He shivered in anticipation.

In fact, the only problem Harry could think of – or not – was his inability to recall exactly WHY or HOW he had returned. He knew the theory behind the ritual and spellwork used, where and when he would end up, and his immediate plans – save Hermione obviously – but not the ritual itself or the reasons for his blast to the past. Oh, it didn't take a bushy haired genius to figure out the why; Voldemort was winning or had won and the world had gone to hell.

The all too familiar scent of sewage water and rotting meat assaulted his nostrils, forcing him to push his thoughts to the back of his mind and focus on the task at hand.

A scream erupted from the nearby girl's lavatory.

Harry and Ron shared a look – Deja vu much? – before both charged ahead.

Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite the two adolescents, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went. Harry allowed a small smile to come over his face; he had forgotten just how small she was – hell they all were – and how adorable she was with her wild hair and slightly too large front teeth.

"H-Harry?" Ron whimpered.

Right, focus.

Bringing his wand to bear, he gave it a textbook swish and flick as he shouted – for appearances sake - "Wingardium Leviosa!" his wand pointed dead center of the eleven foot tall humanoid's broad back.

With relative ease – thanks to his dual cores – the ENTIRE troll was lifted, its arms and legs flailing about fruitlessly at the unpleasant sensation.

He toyed with the mindless beast – both Ron and Hermione were flabbergasted at this point, jaws firmly on the floor – spinning it, varying its height, and essentially having a hell of a time.

Like everything else, he simply couldn't sit back and have fun.

A pain he was all too familiar with made itself known; rapidly building in intensity the longer he held the charm, constricting his chest like a damn snake and causing him to draw in ragged breaths.

He mentally cursed.

In several languages.

He had all but forgotten about his younger self's physical state.

Channeling any amount of magic puts stress on your body, the longer and more complex the spell, the more the stress. Seeing as how he is a frail, undernourished, and yet to hit puberty – he dreaded having to go through THAT again – eleven year old, he most likely wouldn't be able to conjure Prongs at the moment without pain.

He grumbled under his breath, flicking his wand and sending the troll head first into the sturdy, stone walls of Hogwarts and crashing to the floor with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry pushed himself to his feet – When had he collapsed to one knee? – he was shaking and out of breath, absent-mindedly rubbing at his chest. Damn Dursley's and their 'restricted diet'. Ron was slightly behind him, his wand hung limply at his side, mouth still fishing for flies.

Hermione too, was staring at him in shock.

In a weird reversal of role – or at least Harry thought it was Hermione who had spoken last time – it was Ron was spoke first.

"Is-Is it dead?" he was now looking at the unconscious troll.

"Nope," Harry answered a little too cheerfully before he quickly sobered. "Just knocked out, I think."

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. Harry hadn't realized just how much time he wasted fooling around with the troll, or accounted for the troll's angry roars and loud crash afterwards. Maybe his pubescent brain was affecting his reasoning? Something to look into at a later time.

A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by ol' Sev, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Drama Queen.

Harry rolled his eyes. How had Dumbledore missed the obvious act the last time around? Or Snape for that matter? Merlin knew the man was nearly as paranoid as Mad Eye and hardly anything ever slipped by him.

Could the Boy-Who-Lived really be that much of a distraction? Harry kind of felt guilty about that.

He again had to focus on the here and now. He desperately needed to review his Occulemency.

Snape was inspecting the troll while Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Harry – more like attempting to inflict bodily harm through sight. Harry, despite his mental age, shuffled back a step. It had been a long time since he had seen her look so angry.

Harry guessed he wouldn't be winning fifty points for Gryffindor this time around either.

"What on earth were you thinking?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry saw Ron glance at him through the corner of his eye. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Most likely disappointed that Harry hadn't managed to do himself in. He snorted.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall … they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

"I-I…" she began stumbling through a lie.

Harry cut her off.

"She went to use the loo, Professor." All eyes snapped to him. "Before we headed down to the feast." He explained, no need to come up with something as ridiculous as a lone first year attempting to take down a troll. Why the idea had sounded good the first time around, he would never know.

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry –" here she looked at him, something akin to awe on her face. Please god, don't let her be smitten with me, Harry pleaded. His adult mind wouldn't be capable of handling THAT situation. "He used the Levitation Charm. On the troll!" Said boy calmed as the excited scholar he knew and loved reasserted herself. "He crashed it into the wall and knocked it out. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Appraising – McGonagall – and calculating – Snape and Quirrell – eyes turned toward him.

He blushed.

Damn underdeveloped brain.

"Well – in that case..." said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, "Mister Potter. Mister Weasley. What you did was very reckless and foolish. Both of you could have been seriously hurt."

Ron hung his head, properly chastised. Harry grinned cheekily. Though, McGonagall seemed to be immune to his substantial charm, his smile merely causing her lips to purse further.

"Messrs Potter and Weasley, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this. Each." The Transfiguration Professor said. "I'm very disappointed in you." Even now, the disappointment hurt worse that the point deduction, though Snape looked like Christmas had come early.

"Miss Granger, if you're not hurt at all, you'd best get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Hermione nodded, shooting Harry one last glance that promised of numerous questions, and left.

Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry and Ron.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. I award you each five points for the defense of a classmate and shear dumb luck. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

Ron was already out the door – he nearly ran past Snape – when McGonagall called back to Harry.

"And Mister Potter, another ten points for most excellent charms work." She said smugly, her eyes briefly darting over to the Potions Master as if to say 'I told you so'.

Harry's trademark lopsided grin adorned his face. "Thank you, Professor." He really should just leave, but…

"You don't need help moving it do you?" He asked cheekily, twirling his wand for good measure. Damn you Padfoot.

Minerva snorted, the closest she ever came to outright laughter when in the presence of other Professors. "No, Mister Potter. I believe the situation in under hand. Thank you."

He shrugged, "Ok."

He turned and practically skipped out of the demolished bathroom, making sure to smile innocently at Snape as he passed him. The dour man bristled before scowling at him, no doubt glaring holes into the back of his head as he left.

A mischievous, Cheshire Cat grin threatened to break his face.

This is going to be fun.

* * *

It was three days before Harry was able to move forward with his plans, and, amazingly, he had successfully avoided Hermione and her questions thus far. He felt smug about that – perhaps a bit too much; after all he was avoiding a twelve-year-old girl.

He had been walking down to the Great Hall when he had spotted her. He hadn't even been consciously looking for her at the time, believing she had already graduated. He really needed to pay more attention to the finer details of life.

Anyways, it was her hair that tipped him off – well, the bright, pink color of it anyway.

So, he had plastered on his best innocent, adoring look he could muster – later he would be told it made him look constipated – and approached her.

He came up behind her – absently he noted how her arse seemed to be as fine in this time as it was his – and tugged on her robes.

She spun around, eyes wide – it was only then that he noticed that she seemed to be snooping and that they were on the third floor. Again, the details.

She calmed when it was discovered to be an ickle firstie.

"Yes?" she asked cautiously.

"Are you Nym – " Narrowed eyes threatened certain death. "Um… Tonks?" He looked up at her with puppy dog eyes, praying he walked away under his own strength.

"Yeah, kid. Who's asking?" Pink eyes briefly scanned over him, pausing in realization at his scar.

He tried to look shy and intentionally ignored her question. "Um… is it true you're a Meta – Metamorpher?" Harry had discovered that people tended to look warily and suspicious with him when he used 'big words'.

If anything she became more guarded, no doubt expecting him to ask her to change into something. "A Metamorphmagus? Yes. Why?" Pink eyes turned red, effectively giving him the chills.

"I-I-I…" No need to fake that stutter as he avoided her eyes. "I was hoping you could teach me." His voice grew quiet at the end. Damn pea brain.

A hand on his shoulder forced him to look at her – thankfully her eyes had softened considerably and returned to pink. "Sorry, sweetie." Now she was just playing mean, forcing him to blush like that. "It's an inherited magical skill; you're either born with it or not."

Cue triumphant widening of the eyes. "But I can! Watch!" He exclaimed excitedly. He clenched his eyes shut in concentration.

It actually did take him a considerable amount of concentration, just not as much as he was letting on. In a matter of moments his hair noticeably lengthened and lightened to a shade of dark brown. Of course, this also happened, to a lesser degree, to his eyebrows – it wouldn't pay to display such control without explanation now would it?

Tonks, if anything, was even more excited than he pretended to be. Her eyes were wide and green – she seemed to do that a lot around him during his time – and her mouth was opened in shock.

"THAT'S BRILLIANT!" she exclaimed. After all, there is only ever a handful of Metamorphamagus' scattered about the globe at any one time. For two of them to be born to the same generation was unheard of, them attending Hogwarts at the same time was a complete miracle.

He was nearly lurched off his feet when she suddenly looped her arm through his and started dragging him toward the Great Hall. Her previous misadventure all but forgotten.

"What else can you do?" she asked excitedly.

He regaled her with oh-so-exciting tales of never needing haircuts or having to trim his nails - real adrenalin inducing stuff - as they made their way to the ground floor.

She plopped him down at the Hufflepuff table, glaring at one poor soul who thought it was a good idea to not-so-politely suggest he sit with his 'own kind'.

He hastily vacated the immediate area, only for him to have the terrible misfortune of being the recipient of TWO tripping jinxes.

That reminded him of his wands recent lackluster performance. A trip to Ollivander's was on the horizon.

Tonks grinned mischievously at him – he grinned right back – and the rest of the students surrounding them discreetly shuffled further away. He would be the first to admit it was a rather disturbing sight.

She slugged him on the arm. Hard. He did NOT rub it.

"I have a feeling were gonna be the best of friends kiddo."

He agreed.

Up at the Head Table, Professors Sprout and McGonagall grimaced, memories of Tonks' own misdeeds and those of a certain quartet of friends playing through their minds. Poor Snape lost his appetite.

Relieved, Harry was thankful the two were able to quickly form a close-knit friendship – though, he knew from experience, just how to push in order to form the friendship. Technically it was cheating, but hey, so was coming back in time.

On the other end of things, Harry's wand continued to be a nuisance; performing admirably when he didn't need it to and piss poor when he did. It was setting him on edge and making him worried. He had hoped to put it off until Christmas, so that he didn't strictly NEED permission to leave the castle, but at the rate things were going he was headed into disaster territory. He shuddered to think what would happen if he had to defend himself from Quirrell at the moment.

So, he had waited behind after Transfiguration one day, finally having decided to bring the issue up to McGonagall and request permission to leave Hogwarts.

* * *

Author's Note:

Putting this out there for the hell of it. If I finish it, it will be at a leisurely pace and as I will be traveling for the Holidays, don't expect an update for some time.


	2. Chapter 2

The conversation, amazingly, went much better than Harry could have ever imagined.

They argued for several minutes, McGonagall insisting he be accompanied by a professor and that was all fine and well but he was not to be denied.

It was through careful manipulation that he got the stern professor to agree to an _adult_ - he may or may not have alluded to asking Hagrid - and he all but ran out of the office after getting the answer he wanted. After all, Tonks was seventeen - Or is she eighteen? - and technically an adult in the magical world. He just didn't let McGonagall know that.

So, it was an all too excited Tonks and a slightly worried - perhaps Hagrid was the better choice - Harry that arrived in a heap of limbs through the floo at The Leaky Cauldron.

Tonks laughed, Harry grumbled - she wasn't the one to wind up on bottom, now was she?

After mustering as much dignity as they could and dusting themselves off, they shuffled out of the dank pub with little incident - Harry had put his limited Metamorphmagus skills to good use and changed his hair from black to brown and his eyes to a deep blue, while Tonks applied a minor cosmetic charm to conceal his scar - Tonks turned to him.

"So, Lil' Minion..." She had become rather fond of the term much to Harry's chagrin. "Where to first?"

He looked at her - taking great pleasure in her affronted expression - using his best 'you're pretty stupid, huh?' look. She answered for him.

"Right, Gringott's."

The visit to the Goblins went smoothly enough, though Tonks was subjected to some rather nasty muttering and glares. Turns out Goblins aren't very fond of shifters, seeing them as potential security risks. Naturally, Harry spent the entire time riling them up by constantly altering his appearance, rapidly changing his hair from short to long, and black to brown. A silent, wandless tripping jinx or two may have been thrown into the mix when one of the nasty little buggers muttered 'mongrel bitch' under his breath.

The goblin in question kept sending the both of them accusing glares, but nonetheless ceased his offensive remarks - or he may have just switched languages. Overall, Harry didn't care one way or the other.

The first stop on the to-do-list - apparently Tonks had no intention of wasting a perfectly good day in Diagon and had composed an itinerary - was Ollivander's.

The shop - and its owner - were just as creepy as before. Ollivander, of course, performed his equally creepy materialization from the shadows, using his odd, distant voice that Harry believed was designed to scare children.

Tonks squeaked.

Harry laughed.

Well, until an incredibly sharp knuckle was driven into his ribs.

"Nymphadora Tonks," Harry had to bite back the chuckle when said Metamorphamagus glared at him. "Birch and Unicorn Hair, 12-1/4 inches..." He trailed off as he turned to Harry.

"Oh dear..." Apparently the old man could 'see' the piss-poor connection between Harry and his wand.

What followed was so bizarre that Harry still wasn't sure what had happened. One moment his Holly wand was tucked safely in his robes, the next Ollivander has his spindly fingers all over it, stroking it in some weird form of affection.

Harry felt violated.

After several minutes of inspection, the old wandmaker discovered the problem.

It was rather simple; Harry was pumping TOO much magic trough his wand, over saturating the core and causing it to respond less than adequate. It wasn't that his wand couldn't handle the excess, just that the bond between them - Harry and his wand - was still in development. In time - roughly a month or two - the bond would stabilize and everything would be peachy. But until then...

"Now these, Mister Potter, are called dampening or focusing rings." Ollivander explained as he slipped three silver bands, roughly 1/8th inch in thickness, onto the handle of his wand. "They will dispel the excess magic as it passes through, while simultaneously focusing the magic that does." He magically readjusted the size of the rings until they sat snug against the wood. "The result should be much more reliable casting."

Ollivander had Harry perform several tests, adjusting the size and placement of the rings until he was satisfied with the outcome, instructing Harry that the bands would naturally break away when the time was right.

Once back out in the Alley, Harry again took the initiative and lead the way to the Apothecary, intent on resolving his other main concern - his health.

Harry purchased a slew - enough to last until the summer holidays - of nutritional, supplemental, and therapeutic potions and elixirs. Combining their usage and consuming enough nutrients should offset the damage of the Dursley's poor diet and induce a substantial growth spurt.

He was grateful when Tonks displayed the same amount of tact that he was accustomed to and didn't press him for answers he wasn't willing to give. Though, she did grumble darkly when he mentioned his 'relatives' and 'slight-malnourishment'.

She did, however, reveal her true maturity, creating rude and perverted acts with a pair of eyes, a stirring rod, and a crystal phial - it was hilarious. Until she broke the crystal phial. They left after that.

Harry had used this same concoction the previous time and the results had been most wonderful - even correcting his horrendous eyesight. He didn't - and probably never would - obtain 20/20 vision, but he would no longer need glasses to read the board in class.

Up until that point, the trip had been most productive - pleasant even.

Then Terror Tonks took over.

Apparently her masterfully thought out itinerary consisted of running from clothing store to clothing store, ice cream, lunch at the Cauldron, more clothing shopping - this time in muggle London - and finishing the day with another scoop of ice cream.

Harry's poor feet never felt more abused, mistreated, and underappreciated. Speaking of which...

"WHAT!?" Tonks screeched.

She had just discovered that he lacked ownership of the most marvelous footwear creation of mankind; combat boots.

She looked indignant - hands on her hips and glaring at his feet, as if it was their fault.

She huffed. "Well..." Her tone was matter-of-fact. "No minion of mine..." She let the - threat? - trail off and seized his arm and dragged him off. First to the girls section of the shoe store, then she realized that he was, in fact, a guy and pulled him along to the appropriate section. He was now the proud owner of one pair of black, steel toed combat boots, spelled to be waterproof and scuff resistant, and fixed with metal fittings.

Harry could have swore her eyes misted when he first pulled them on.

All in all, they were the nicest pair of shoes Harry had ever owned - and surprisingly comfortable. Of course, he would never tell Tonks this, the woman already had it in her mind that she knew best. No, he would gripe and grumble about the unfairness of the world, while secretly admiring the boots.

Snape would be so proud.

Of course, there was ONE minor hiccup on the day.

They had just sat down for their second helping of ice cream from Fortescue's when a shrill voice cut through the stillness of the Alley. "Nymphadora, dear," A mane of fire was headed their way. "Is that you?"

Molly Weasley came into view.

"Why are you not in school, young lady?" the Weasley Matriarch demanded, hands already on her hips. Huh? Seems that Tonks' reputation is known far and wide.

Nymphadora Tonks, it seemed, had finally met her match.

She sputtered, her mouth opening and closing as her mind rapidly searched for an escape. It took her a moment, but she found it.

IT, being him.

"Mrs. Weasley," she said sweetly - too sweetly. Harry narrowed his eyes. "Have you met Harry Po- URGH!" Steel toed boots come in handy when dealing out under-the-table punishment.

"Polkiss. Harrison Polkiss. Harry to my friends." He offered a smile that was the very definition of innocence and extended his hand.

Mrs. Weasley was momentarily taken aback, her head swiveling back and forth between the two. Nevertheless, she smiled in return and took the offered hand. "I'm Mrs. Weasley, Mister Polkiss. Forgive me, but you seem familiar."

"Oh, I doubt that Mrs. Weasley. I'm muggle-born." Harry was channeling his inner Dumbledore and offering half-truths.

Thankfully, Mrs. Weasley seemed to buy his story for the moment and turned back to Tonks. An arched eyebrow indicated she hadn't forgotten her previous question.

The pink-haired soon-to-be Auror glared at him. "Harrison here," He did NOT like the way she hissed his name. Her hair changing to a shockingly violent shade of violet didn't help. "Had a floppy wand -" He wondered if the innuendo was purposeful. "-and needed to see Ollivander. I volunteered to escort him."

Hmm... seemed she had a thing for half-truths as well.

The usual overbearing woman seemed taken aback, unable to comprehend Tonks' seemingly act of kindness. "Well... it's getting late dear, perhaps you should be getting back."

THAT drew both of their attentions. Tonks quickly cast a tempus charm and swore under her breath. Harry looked over.

4:07.

Five hours? They had been gone FIVE hours?

Harry swore.

"Mister Polkiss!" Unfortunately his was aloud. "Language!"

There was a blur of movement as Harry and Tonks panicked - images of an irate McGonagall flashing before them - they scrambled to their feet and headed for the Cauldron, throwing hasty goodbyes over their shoulders and leaving a confused Molly Weasley in their wake.

They floo'd to Hogsmead and flat out ran for the gates of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Harry's luck decided to come out and play.

They were met by a too-tickled Filch and a smiling Snape. It wasn't a sneer or even a grin, but an honest to goodness shit-eating smile.

It was the most terrifying thing Harry had ever seen.

They were led by their noses to a decidedly upset Deputy Headmistress, her lips were pursed to the point of nonexistence.

"Mister Potter." Oh shit. "Miss Tonks." She stared - deceptively calm - between the two of them. "Explain."

Harry swallowed, but worked up the courage to speak first. "Umm..." he glanced over his shoulder, knitting his brow in confusion. "What exactly is it that you would like me to explain?"

"Now listen here, you insufferable brat, you know..."

"Professor." McGonagall had risen from her chair, leaning against her desk, and glaring at Snape. She presented a rather imposing sight. "Why exactly are you here? As I recall, neither of these students are in your house."

Harry smiled, always nice to see Snape knocked docked down a peg or two. Especially when it was McGonagall.

Snape predictably huffed and stormed out of the room, his cloak billowing out behind him. Harry really had to learn how he did that.

Harry was still smiling like an idiot when McGonagall turned back to him. Her scowl of disapproval would have made kitten Kneazles cry. Luckily, Harry had the self-preservation instinct to duck his head in chastisement, his cheeks a faint pink in embarrassment.

Damn, he thought he had solved that particular problem.

She retook her seat, allowing the silence to become deafening as she let their imaginations run wild. Finally, after an eternity, she deemed to speak.

"You both have a date with Mister Filch this Sunday." That wasn't too bad, at least he wouldn't miss Quidditch. "In the Owlery." ...And the punch line.

Detention with Filch was bad enough - the man stood over you like a slave-driver and forbade the use of magic. Add in the Owlery - which hadn't been properly cleaned in months, maybe years - and you have the worst detention imaginable baring torture.

With that, they were dismissed, Tonks glaring at him as they left her office - him glaring right back. It was all too obvious to each of them that the other was responsible for their recent plight.

* * *

The next few days passed without incident, though Snape did manage to be bitten by Fluffy once again and Hermione finally cornered him for a Q and A. Harry employed evasive Dumbledore tactics. Luckily she seemed satisfied with the answers she got.

The morning of the first Quidditch match of the year - Gryffindor versus Slytherin - Harry was garnering some odd and dumbfounded looks. Now, Harry's position as the Gryffindor Seeker was still under wraps, locked up tighter than a Gringott's vault. So, naturally everyone knew.

The looks he was getting was due to his amazingly calm state. Instead of the timid, nervous first year everyone expected he was cool, calm, and collected. And on his second helping of breakfast - those nutrient potions really amped up your appetite. Ron seemed to take it as a personal challenge and - to the ire of Hermione - matched him bite for bite, though Ron done it with little manners.

Harry was able to nearly finish a third plate when Fred and George jostled him out of the Hall. He chatted amiably with the twins on the way to the Pitch. Once in the locker room, Wood gathered himself to deliver one of his riveting speeches.

He cleared his throat for silence.

"Okay, men."

"And women." Angelina added.

"And women." Wood agreed. "This is it."

"The big one." Interjected Fred.

"The one we've all been waiting for." Continued George.

Fred leaned over conspiratorially. "We know Oliver's speech by heart," he whispered. "We were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two." Wood snapped. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it." His gaze found Harry's as he said this.

There was a hope and pleading element to his eyes, begging him to just catch the snitch. Harry grinned lopsidedly at him and snapped off a mock salute.

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Right up there with Winston Churchill, that Oliver Wood is.

The game progressed much as one would expect - violent and nasty since it was against Slytherin. Hell, the opening salvo proved to be Marcus Flint's fist being shoved into Wood's face. It was an obvious strategic move to throw Oliver off his game and seemed to work when Wood failed to deflect the first shot, but the six consecutive goals he blocked after killed that notion.

Harry had been circling the pitch for roughly half an hour in search of the snitch, dodging repeated attempts on his life - life, because every bludger hit his way magically targeted his head - when his broom gave a lurch that nearly sent him tumbling over the handle.

Shit.

How the hell had he forgotten about Quirrell jinxing his broom?

He increased the hold he had on the Nimbus, hanging on for dear life as the broom bucked and thrashed, and praying for Snape or Hermione to hurry up.

That thought brought him pause. Why the hell was it Snape attempting to save his life while Albus Dumbledore - one of the most powerful wizards in history - stood idly by? The old coot was probably examining cloud formations in-depth with Trelawney and sucking on those damn lemon drops. Harry was going to have to do an in-depth analysis on Dumbledore's actions - past and present - and determine just whose side he was really on.

The broom finally calmed, and Harry snuck a look to see that Snape's robes had once again caught fire.

He breathed a sigh of relief and snickered. It was Snape after all.

Without warning, Harry dropped from the sky, the nose of his broom pointed straight down.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd - many believing his broom malfunctioning once more - followed by the cheers of the Gryffindor supporters as they realized he had the snitch in sight.

The wind rushing past his ears was nearly deafening as Harry plummeted.

Twenty feet.

Fifteen feet.

Ten feet. He out stretched his arm.

Five feet. His hand lashed out, closing around the tiny golden ball and fluttering wings.

He pulled up hard, the toes of his boots skimming the grass as he pumped his arm in victory to the roar of the crowd. He was just glad he hadn't swallowed this one.

He set down, only to be swarmed by his teammates and friends - Wood may or may not have been crying, Harry couldn't really tell with his one black eye.

As his back was being mercilessly pounded by congratulatory slaps a very familiar voice rang out.

"Oi! Get outta the way!" It was Tonks shoving her way through the crowd - Harry winced as one poor chap took an elbow to the sternum.

Suddenly, she was there, grinning like a fool - he supposed he was too.

Before he could protest, Tonks hugged him, lifting him off his feet. "That was brilliant!" She supplemented this statement by kissing him on the cheek.

He grinned stupidly.

And blushed.

God Damnit!

* * *

Author's Note:

Got this out there a lot faster than I anticipated. If you have any questions, leave a comment and I will address them with the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Like the previous time, Harry found himself being dragged along to Hagrid's Hut - Hermione doing the actual dragging, Ron trailing along behind, and Tonks still by his side, her arm looped around his. Harry wasn't even sure Tonks was aware of what was going on, as she chatted away rather oblivious of the situation.

They all squeezed into Hagrid's couch - which comfortably sat three people or one half-giant.

"It was Snape." Ron immediately jumped to accusing everyone's favorite Potions Master. "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

Tonks looked between Harry and the others, already understanding what they were getting at. "Well, Harry is pretty cute..." She winked at him for good measure.

Ron looked at her like she was daft.

Hermione took on a thoughtful expression, no doubt wondering if Snape 'batted the other way' and with little boys no less. God, he hoped not.

Harry blushed. Again. What was with him today?

Hagrid... well Hagrid being Hagrid, you couldn't exactly tell the man's expression through his untamed beard.

"Well, I don' know 'bout that." Hagrid stated slowly, seemingly defending the man. "But why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look with Harry, most likely wondering if they should tell him their suspicions about Snape and the Cerberus. Harry lifted his shoulders in a shrug, deciding to see how this played out. Oh, sure he knew the truth and could most likely compose a logical argument and convince the others - Ron and Hermione - of the man's innocence, but where was the fun in that?

Plus, it was Snape. Good guy? Yes. Good person? No.

"We found out something about him." It was Hermione who mustered the courage to speak. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on the third floor during Halloween. He got bit. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot he was currently pouring from.

Tonks cursed.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he asked.

"What the hell?" she screeched.

It seemed Tonks' more powerful lungs gave her question more importance.

This should be interesting, Harry thought.

Tonks rounded on him, a dangerous glint in her eye.

Or not.

"When," she poked his chest to emphasize her words - he may or may not have rubbed at it. "Did you go to the third floor?" She narrowed her eyes further, the effect made her even more attractive as the roots of her spiky pink hair darkened to red before slowly spreading. "And why didn't you take me with you?" she demanded.

Oh, that.

For a second, Harry thought he was in real trouble. "Oh, umm... we hadn't met yet." She crossed her arms, looking like a small child and still slightly unconvinced. "This was back before Halloween." She huffed and looked away from him - that seemed to do the trick.

Tonks remained silent, a contemplative look on her face - most likely planning to pay a visit to the third floor in the not-so-distant future and dragging Harry along to play chauffeur.

It took a moment for any one to reassert their selves after her outburst.

"Fluffy?" It was Ron who got them back on track.

"Yeah - he's mine - bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year - I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the…" Hagrid rambled off, obviously lost in thought about that 'cuddly lil' fella'.

"Yes?" Hermione eagerly pressed.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it." Hermione looked like she wanted to stomp in frustration.

"Rubbish." Hagrid protested again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione.

The afternoon's events seemed to have rearranged how she thought about authority figures.

"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them!" Uh-oh, here she goes. "You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid - thankfully - cut her off. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all four of yeh - yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel -"

Ah, poor Hagrid.

"Aha!" Hermione pounced on the information.

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

Tonks perked up at this. "Nicolas Flamel? The old geezer that made the Philosopher's Stone?" Huh, that was easy. Harry would have to thank her later as she just saved them all from a study session with Hermione and the library.

The big man's shoulders slumped, he looked so dejected. Well, he had just given away Dumbledore's 'great secret' to a bunch of first years and a lone seventh year.

Harry, sensing the rapid shift in mood, ushered everyone out - offering a few kind words and a promise to visit soon as he himself stepped out.

* * *

For the most part everything returned to normal after that, including classes - though Hagrid actively avoided them. Detention was as horrid as Harry expected, though they - Harry and Tonks - passed the time by amusing themselves at Filch's expense.

Harry had already decided to perform the minimum amount of work on his essays - aiming for straight Acceptables with an occasional Exceeds Expectations thrown in - while dazzling his professors with his practical work.

Both McGonagall and Flitwick had beamed proudly - well, McGonagall nodded stiffly and her lips twitched, that's roughly the same thing - during his first few lessons. He excelled in everything he attempted, seeming to master the spell on the first try. Hermione was slightly put out, but not as much as he would have expected. Harry didn't feel smug about it - he _had_ already taken the courses - nor was it a petty attempt to take advantage of his situation.

It was, actually, a calculated maneuver.

By performing above and beyond standards he was hoping to coax his professors into additional tutelage - Flitwick was a Dueling Master, while McGonagall's knowledge on Defensive Transfiguration was only eclipsed by Dumbledore's. Also, it _was_ practice of a sorts, as he was trying to perfect the amount of power he put into his spells - he most often overpowered them, turning a simple Lumos charm into a blinding flash of vibrant, scarlet light.

Thus far his attempts at extra tutelage had been for naught.

Potions was also drastically different this time around.

Snape hadn't changed, but Harry had - he took a vindictive glee at actually brewing the assigned potions correct, forcing Snape to grudgingly accept that he wasn't a 'complete dunderhead'. Though the dour man still deducted more points from Harry than anyone.

Before he knew it, the end of term had come and gone, and with it most of the students returning home for the holidays.

This included Tonks, who made sure to pinch his cheeks and hug him in front of an audience of the entire school - leaving him red in embarrassment as she boarded the train, yelling back that she would owl his gift to him.

He didn't think his poor cheeks or ego would ever get used to Tonks' brand of teasing.

* * *

The holidays came and went with little incident, though there were a few notable events.

First, he received his father's invisibility cloak from an anonymous - Dumbledore - source, again. He also avoided the Mirror of Erised. He was honestly afraid of what he might see.

Second, he FINALLY beat Ron in a game of chess. Harry couldn't help but feel proud of the accomplishment - he purposely ignored that he was mentally a decade older and it took him seven games to scrape out one win. Seriously, Ron was some unnatural chess-wizard-master-thing. How can a guy be so daft in EVERYTHING, but a certified genius in another? It was perplexing.

Also, Tonks sent him his gift. He had deliberately put off opening it at first, warily of it - with good reason - and figuring that she had gotten him some sort of gag gift. And in the magical world, that can mean a whole lot of things. After sitting down and thinking about it he figured she wouldn't. After all, he had sent her a genuine present - an outdated Auror's Manual and rune etched dueling gloves that prevented your fingers from being crushed.

So, he opened it.

It blew up in his face. Literally.

Plus, she cheated.

Whatever it was, it neutralized his Metamorphmagus abilities, leaving him sporting hideous pink and yellow hair and unable to change it.

Attached was a simple note:

_Minion_

_Don't worry, it'll wear off eventually. Though not until AFTER I return to make photos. You'll get your actual gift on New Year's Eve._

_Your Master and Friend,_

_Tonks_

He swore vengeance.

Her actual gift turned out to be a very nice - expensive - professional grade broom servicing kit, complete with a How-To guide on tweaking the brooms performance to better suit the rider's needs. It was a field Harry had never even touched upon before and he was completely immersed in the book for the better part of a week.

Wood even came by - he was staying to study for OWL's - and 'borrowed' the book. He tried the same with the kit, but a mild stinging charm and the promise of Tonk's retribution put a stop to that.

The last thing of note to happen over the break was Harry's boredom.

Well, not so much the boredom, but the free time that led to the boredom that led to him thinking about stuff that led to him kinda-sorta making plans. It all made sense in his head.

Mostly.

Not really.

Anyways, he decide to prepare for the near future.

Next year was easily solvable; he just needed to travel to Diagon with the Weasley's, wait for Malfoy Sr. to plant the Diary, and then swipe it out of Ginny's cauldron. He would then take the cursed book back to Hogwart's and destroy it - he didn't want to try FiendFyre at this physical age and he sure as hell wasn't about to leave it at the Dursley's.

Of course, there was the rest of the Horcruxes that needed to be dealt with, but Harry didn't have the means to track them down just yet nor acquire all of the ones he had previously found other than the Diadem.

Hmm, there was also Dobby to consider. He would have to blackmail or dupe Lucius into releasing the over energetic little fiend.

Third year, however, proved troublesome.

He had no idea how to free Sirius without letting the events play out as they should.

Oh, he could capture Scabbers and turn him over to Dumbledore or even the DMLE, but there would be questions. Questions he wasn't inclined to answer and despite his skill in Occulemency, he would never be able to keep a certain prying Headmaster out. The man already kept close enough tabs on him as is, no need to go and give him another reason. Plus, Sirius had once revealed that he was completely off his rocker when he had first escaped, and it was the fire that hunting down Peter provided that helped him to be somewhat level headed when Harry had first met him.

Harry wasn't too inclined to take that away from him, but Sirius Black would be a free man. Even if Harry had to stage a coup and take over the Ministry.

Also, there was certain pranking potential to be had here. Sirius as Padfoot for the better part of a year and no chance of retribution.

It was an intriguing idea.

He could play the 'no trial' angle, but again that would bring up questions. Like, how the hell did he even know who Sirius was - let alone the details of his not-trial - especially when a certain someone had sealed his parents wills for the 'Greater Good'.

Damn manipulative old bastards that also made it impossible to hate them. He had, after all, sealed it for a legitimate reason.

It was infuriating; knowing, but unable to do anything.

He put it on the back burner for now.

Fourth year still needed to go off about the same.

If Pettigrew did escape, then the tournament gave him the perfect opportunity to get him back, plus a free shot at a severely weakened Voldemort. Not to mention if he did somehow get out of competing then one of the Champions would still have to face Riddle in the end. Alone. Best if it was just him.

Cedric was not dying for some madman's cause.

Plus, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't giddy with anticipation at having another go at a dragon.

A front roll view to Fleur in a swimsuit was alluring, as well.

Fifth year was not happening. No way in hell he was allowing THAT to replay itself. Or sixth and seventh years for that matter. Nope, fourth year was where he drew the line. Funny how it coincided with him turning fifteen that following summer, the age where he had previously really came into his own; magically, physically, and mentally.

He didn't put too much trust in Divination, but if that wasn't a sign, he didn't know what the hell was.

On a positive note, Harry's health was steadily improving, to the point where he was able to take up his usual workout routine.

It was nothing overly taxing. Just a few laps around an artificial pitch he had the Room of Requirement provide - it _was_ mid-December in Scotland - some push-ups, pull-ups, and crunches, followed by a leisurely soak in a giant tub the Room was kind enough to provide.

It was what Moody called the perfect balance to his already active - fighting for his life - lifestyle, helping to build the physical strength needed to control some of the more volatile spells they were both fond of. There was just something about being able to engage multiple enemies at once and still walk away, though not always unscathed if Moody's condition was anything to go by.

He also turned his mind to his friends that he, admittedly, wasn't quite as involved with this time. Oh, the quantity of the time they were together was close to the same - they _did_ share every class with each other - but the quality was noticeably lacking. It was just hard to connect with an eleven year old when you're mentally twice their age.

Harry couldn't even fix the issues he saw - Ron's bigoted views and rampant jealousy and Hermione's bossy nature - because they were things that needed time. They needed to grow up and mature and - no matter how powerful he was - he couldn't change that fact. Still, the bonds of friendship seemed to be developing nicely, especially when they were investigating Fluffy, the trap door, and additional research on the Sorcerer's Stone - of course, their research was helped along by Tonks' tendency to butt into whatever they are doing when she was in the vicinity and Hagrid's 'hints'.

Poor, loveable oaf.

Neville - who Harry had purposefully gotten a little closer to this time - however, was a different story.

The shy Gryffindor lacked confidence - badly.

Being suspected as a squib for most of your childhood, while always compared to your parents, and finally chucked out a window will do that to anyone. So, confidence boosting it was.

First things first, he had to get rid of that stupid wand. Harry would arrange for an 'accident' to snap the damn thing if it wasn't such a sentimental item to the boy. Other, more complicated and time consuming things would have to be arranged. Perhaps he could involve McGonagall; she was the only person Harry had ever seen cow Augusta Longbottom.

Also, the kid was quite pudgy, which also dampened his self-confidence.

Now, most of it was 'baby fat' and would melt away as he grew older, but it was still odd to see an even slightly overweight child in the wizarding world. Wizards, as a whole, tended to be naturally physically fit due to their high energy consumption and innate magic, even squibs were slim and healthy. Look at his incoming class; besides Neville there was Bulstrode. Crabe and Goyle too at first glance, but after having seen and fought against their respective fathers, Harry could tell their large build was hereditary - as well as their lack of wits.

Perhaps he could include Neville in his workout routine?

Soon enough, January sixth rolled around, and with it the start of a new term.

True to her word, Tonks did indeed take his picture.

In the Great Hall.

In front of everyone.

Malfoy would never let him hear the end of it.

* * *

Author's Note:

Just wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed, favorite, and followed this story; it's great motivation. As I'm currently on break, I'm going to attempt to maintain these once-a-week updates, but no promises.


	4. Chapter 4

The entire month of January and the better part of February could be boiled down to two events.

Pranking and Dueling.

It all started inadvertently; Harry and Tonks retaliated against a couple of older Slytherins - seventh years if Harry wasn't mistaken - after the idiots made some passing remark over their abilities and the 'pedigree' of their respective mother and father.

So, in true Marauder fashion, they got even.

First, Tonks decided the entire Slytherin upper years would look best with bright red hair using the same combustible powder she had used on him during the holidays - Harry made sure that Malfoy was 'accidentally' in the line of fire as well. Of course, the fact that the entire Quidditch team was affected the day before their match against Ravenclaw was purely coincidental.

Second, Harry reset the password to the Slytherin Common Room the day of the match - again, completely coincidental - to 'Lion's Pride'. In Parseltongue. Did you know that ol' Sal installed a ward wide fail safe in the dungeons utilizing the ancient snake language?

Harry did.

Dumbledore ended up having to use his position as Headmaster to bring the ward down and reset the password to sugar quill or something equally absurd so the players could retrieve their brooms and gear.

Poor Slytherin ended up losing 230-190 after the Ravenclaw Seeker caught the snitch right from underneath the nose of their own.

Lastly, Harry and Tonks combined their efforts to orchestrate a series of events that served as their finale and to celebrate Slytherin's loss.

Well, they would have if their plans hadn't have been interrupted.

They didn't anticipate the Twins taking their onslaught as a personal challenge, and instead of attacking them - it was no secret that they were behind the pranks despite the lack of evidence - they too focused their diabolical attention on the Slytherins.

It was three days of utter hell for the poor snakes.

It all came to an abrupt end with the duo deciding to target Snape. They figured since he was the Head Slytherin they would one-up them. Unfortunately, they were caught before they could complete their transfiguration - Really? Attempting any sort of prank with McGonagall nearby is crazy. One that involves transfiguration is just suicide. Though, someone had managed to snap a picture of Snape in half completed frilly, pink robes and tie-dye-ish yellow hair - Harry had multiple copies made into flyers to post around the school.

After that, Harry and Tonks were warned - by Sprout no less - that 'recent questionable actions should cease before the Headmaster was forced to get involved'. They got the message: stop your shit before you found yourselves swimming in it.

* * *

It was near the beginning of February - a Thursday if Harry wasn't mistaken - when Flitwick had held him after class.

He had waited patiently, giving a brief nod to Ron and Hermione to go on without him, Harry had made a conscious effort to improve things on that front and was glad that it seemed to be paying off.

The tiny Charms Professor kindly asked him to shut the door to ensure their privacy once they were alone.

Harry complied, standing and closing the door with a soft click before turning to address his professor.

Only for a bright, red beam of magic to already be baring down on him.

Harry ducked swiftly, rolling to his left and drawing his wand in one deft, fluid motion, ready to defend himself from further attacks.

The half-goblin professor was standing there - a faint flicker of surprise on his face before he schooled it back into a neutral expression - wand held before him with a confidence Harry had never seen from the small statured man, perched atop his pile of books and looking every bit the cold and calculating master dueler Harry knew him to be.

"Professor, what are..." He began, only to cut himself off as Flitwick assaulted him again.

Harry spun away from the initial barrage, erecting a simple protego - the diminutive Professor was at least keeping it PG with the minor curses, jinxes, and charms he was throwing his way - before side stepping neatly as the shield shattered from four rapid-fire stunners.

That was Flitwick's style. The little man didn't posses very potent magic, but his reserves were world class and he put that to great use in all his duels. Harry had - in his future - viewed several of the man's championship matches - to say they were impressive would be an understatement. Harry was sure Flitwick didn't mean to, but in the end the half-goblin almost always humiliated his opponent.

The shear number of spells he put out was unmatched - he still held the record for the most spells cast in a duel lasting under ten minutes. 361. And the match only lasted six minutes and thirty-seven seconds. That's nearly a spell per second! Though, he was hospitalized with severe magical exhaustion for nearly two months afterwards.

Still an impressive feat, nonetheless.

Harry retaliated with his own stunner, hiding it between an over powered tripping jinx and tickling charm trying to surprise the professor and end this quickly - Flitwick expected a first year with a first year repertoire and Harry wasn't too keen to give much of anything away.

It worked - sorta.

His eyes widened momentarily - spinning to avoid the first as he did - before they narrowed. He flicked his wand, intending to throw the stunner off course, but only slowing it down.

It was a trick Moody had taught him.

By manipulating the magic during the casting you were able to keep a connection of sorts with your spells, able to make minor differences in their direction and speed. It was similar to muggle tracking technology, just not as accurate. Unfortunately, it was also a magical drain - Harry already felt a slight weight settle on his chest from the casting.

Flitwick kneeled, thrusting his wand before him and erecting a perfect dueler's shield - show off - and the stunner and tickling charm splashed harmlessly against it, but the damage was done.

Seizing his moment of weakness - one couldn't shift positions while maintaining a duelers shield - Harry sent a banishment charm and mild blasting curse at the makeshift ladder the professor had constructed for his perch - the weight constricting his chest nearly doubled.

The books went flying and Flitwick fell.

Instead of falling on his face - as Harry had intended - Flitwick slashed his wand through the air, righting himself and landing, albeit awkwardly, on his feet.

Harry brought his wand up, an incantation on his lips, but paused as Flitwick held up his non-wand hand.

"That will be enough, Mister Potter." He squeaked, looking quite pleased with himself over something. "Well done. Well done, indeed."

Had... had he just been PRANKED?

Judging by the mirth in the professors eyes, yes. Yes he had.

Harry's shoulders slumped - a look of complete bemusement washing over his features. "Professor?" He questioned with an exasperated sigh.

Flitwick chuckled.

The little demented bastard.

"I have decided to accept your proposal for additional tutelage, Mister Potter." He said very officiously after his laughter subsided.

Oh, well... in THAT case...

"That's great!" Harry exclaimed excitedly. "When do we start?" He asked enthusiastically.

Flitwick chuckled again, absentmindedly waving his wand and righting his podium of books. "Hmm..." He hummed thoughtfully.

Harry was nearly bouncing on his feet. He couldn't help it, he was excited - the opportunity to study under a Master of Flitwick's caliber was just too much for him.

"I'm thinking Wednesday evenings, as your schedule should be free due to the nighttime Astronomy lesson, if you are agreeable?" He spoke assuredly.

Harry couldn't even force himself to verbally answer, settling for enthusiastically nodding his head like an idiot.

Flitwick clapped his hands together. "Splendid. I will inform you later when I have chosen a more resolute time." Harry just stood still, continuing to grin like a jackal. "Run along now Mister Potter." Flitwick shooed when it became apparent that he wasn't going to move on his own.

His cheeks heated in embarrassment.

"Oh... um... thanks." He grinned again for good measure and skipped out of the room.

Before turning back and collecting his things.

He continued grinning - making every student he met eye him warily and looking around for his usual partner in crime - as he made his way down to the Great Hall.

As soon as he had sat down beside Ron - opposite Hermione - Tonks sidled up next to him. She softly nudged his shoulder - one of the few times she wasn't trying to injure him in some way - and leaned in to whisper.

Shuffling from across the table keyed him into Hermione listening in. Ron remained blissfully ignorant as he tackled one tricky chicken leg.

"So, who'd yah get?" She asked, discretely peering around, and causing him to shiver when her breath inadvertently washed over his neck, sending pleasant tingles along his spine and warmth to his cheeks.

Harry wasn't sure if she did it on purpose or what, but everything Tonks did was... well, not sexual but most definitely physical. It played hell with his poor underdeveloped hormones and drove his adult mind crazy.

He looked at her completely dumbfounded. "Huh?" He asked eloquently, equally confused and distracted by her proximity.

Tonks rolled her eyes - obviously not impressed with his 'ignorance is innocence' act - and clarified. "I've seen that grin before. So... who'd yah prank?" Hermione narrowed her eyes and frowned, no longer trying to hide the fact that she was eavesdropping.

Oh, that!

Guess he did need to stop walking around smiling like a loon. People might get the wrong idea.

He cleared his throat - taking the lull in conversation to adopt a mostly neutral face. "I haven't pranked anyone-" His brow scrunched in thought. "-unless Quirrell's opened that desk drawer already." Tonks smirked at that. Hermione's frown deepened. It was one of their more discrete pranks - though, Tonks couldn't for the life of her understand why Harry insisted on 'attacking' the BACK of the stuttering professor's head.

"Anyways," he began again, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "Remember how I told you about asking Flitwick for extra tutoring?" Getting a nod from Tonks and Hermione - who had stopped pretending she wasn't listening in by now.

"He accepted."

Hermione squealed.

"Oh, Harry that's great." She gushed. "You're going to be learning so much new material." Harry was surprised she didn't ask for him to pass his lessons on to her. Though, it WAS still early and - Yep, there was that calculating gleam he knew all too well.

Tonks threw an arm around his shoulders, hugging him to her side in congratulations. "Congrats, lil' minion." She fake sniffed. "You do me proud."

"Hey, what's goin' on?" It seemed Ron had finally noticed there was something happening.

"Flitwick agreed to teach me." Best to keep your sentences short and to the point when around Ron and food or he loses interest quickly.

"Oh, that's cool, mate. Still don't know why you would want more homework though." Ah, classic Ron.

"Really Ronald..." Hermione started in on him but Harry paid them no mind, turning to his own lunch.

Tonks nodded toward them and shook her head in exasperation.

* * *

Training sessions - or 'educational periods' as Flitwick insisted on calling them - turned out to be brutal. And there had only been two so far.

Harry learned very quickly to always have his guard up, as the tiny professor delighted in 'educating' - attacking - him at random moments to keep him on his toes. Despite this the weekly meetings were extremely informative even though they had yet to tackle any charms that Harry hadn't previously known. The professor had even worked in a few advanced - for a first year - transfiguration assignments.

No, the real benefit from Flitwick's teachings was the reason Harry had sought him out in the first place - dueling.

Despite having waged and fought in a war, Harry had never received any formal dueling lessons - Sirius had planned on teaching him before his death, but - obviously - they never got around to it. Harry relied on his own physical superiority - most wizards shunned exercise - Quidditch honed reflexes, and above-average magical aptitude. He was fast, brutal, and most often efficient. Though, he had come up short on several occasions when faced with an inferior opponent with superior dueling skills - Lucius Malfoy, to his shame, had managed to best him on more than one occasion.

And, quite the opposite to his in-class demeanor, Flitwick NEVER looked upon him with approval, but something between indifference and disappointment.

It was infuriating, but it did make him work that much harder.

Even now, as he stood panting, his clothing clinging to him uncomfortably and sweat dripping down his nose, having just been put through evasive maneuvers - Flitwick didn't want Harry to become too dependent on shields - the professor stared at him with an unimpressed air, silently expressing his belief that Harry could do more.

"That will be all for today's lesson, Mister Potter." Flitwick dismissed him. "We will meet the same time next week."

Harry huffed, glared at nothing, then swept out of the room and headed for Gryffindor Tower and a hot, relaxing shower.

Behind him, Flitwick chuckled, pleased with Mister Potter's progress as the first year continued to perform beyond belief. Little did Harry know, that Flitwick was meeting in realative secrecy with McGonagall and he was already being groomed for an apprenticeship.

* * *

An hour and much needed shower later, Harry sat at the end of the Gryffindor Table, absentmindedly gnawing his way through a substantial portion of tonight's roast beef - the house elves had truly outdone themselves this time - while his mind wandered over his most recent schemes. He was, surprisingly, by himself for once; Ron and Hermione were oddly absent and Tonks was refusing to fraternize with the enemy for now - the annual Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match was this weekend and with Tonks serving as a reserve beater she had allied herself against him for the week leading up to the match.

Harry's peaceful meal was rudely interrupted when Ron came blaring into the Great Hall, his face pale and his expression frantic, panting as if he was fleeing from a cluster of Acromantula - Harry discretely slid his wand into his hand, eyes casually sweeping behind his friend in search of the obvious threat. Ron clutched the end of the table, trying to catch his breath as he slipped into the seat opposite and his mouth worked soundlessly - obviously trying to inform Harry of some certain dire situation.

A moment later a much more sedate Hermione enter the hall, though she was walking at a brisk pace and her expression was worried.

Harry frowned.

Ron had finally found his voice by the time Hermione sat down beside him. Though, Harry wasn't able to discern any useful information from 'Harry, can't, no, horrible'. At least he thought that last word had been horrible, it could have very well been humble.

Ron waved his arm for Hermione to articulate for him.

She grasped his arm - a tick of hers when she was distressed. "Harry-" she was whispering for some reason. "-Professor Snape's going to be refereeing your next match."

OH...

Harry slid his wand back into its holster.

He hadn't informed them this time around that Snape would be refereeing Gryffindor's next match since it wasn't a cause to worry, but obviously they had both found out somehow in spite of this.

He shrugged. Hermione fixed him with one of her 'stern' looks - the effect fell flat as Harry found it cute on her twelve-year-old-self. Now, a decade older Hermione - THAT was a completely different story. Harry swore she must have taken lessons from McGonagall.

"Harry," she began slowly, as if to a small child. "You HAVE to get out of playing. It's not safe." Ron nodded his head in agreement.

Harry gave them both an unimpressed look. "And how exactly," he drawled. "Should I do that?"

"Don't play." Said Hermione at once.

"Say you're ill." Provided Ron.

"Pretend to break your leg." Hermione suggested.

"Really break your leg." Ron supplied.

"I can't." Harry interjected before Ron decided to enact said leg breaking. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out now, Gryffindor forfeits the match."

Ron went quiet at that, but Hermione looked indignant.

"Harry," she hissed. "There are more important things than Quidditch." Ron looked ready to argue that point.

Seeing the genuine worry in her chocolate-brown eyes, Harry decided to throw her a bone.

"It'll be OK." Definitely the wrong thing to say. He hastened to add, "After what happened last time, there's no way that Dumbledore's NOT going to go to the game. I'll be fine."

Thankfully, that seemed to mull her over - this Hermione still revered Dumbledore above all else.

With that out of the way he returned to his food and thoughts, casually scanning the Great Hall and pinning his most recent acquaintances.

Unlike last time, he had endeavored to not be limited by house boundaries and had approached each of the other houses - the division and distrust between the houses had caused too many problems during the war.

The only house that had proved difficult was, naturally, Slytherin. Gryffindor was easy for obvious reasons, Tonks - with her carefree attitude and buoyant personality - was looked up to by the younger years, providing a great 'in', and his Ravenclaw year mates had actually approached him. He suspected it had to do with their Head of House giving him extra tutelage.

The Snakes, however, had been distrustful of him from the start - Hell, they still were.

Then he had happened upon Millicent Bulstrode.

She was logically the easiest target; somewhat shunned due to her weight and heritage - she was a Half-Blood like him. It was still bloody difficult though, but being a constant pest had worked to his advantage.

He had dogged her for the better part of two months; seeking her out when he found her alone studying in the library - which was quite often - and always offering kind smiles and pleasant words, softening her up. In the end, it was Tonks who proved to be the difference.

Harry wasn't sure what had happened - Tonks wouldn't tell him anything and neither would Millicent - but the gist of it was; Tonks had stood up for her. Since then she hadn't told him to 'bugger off' or fled from his presence. They weren't friends, but she no longer attempted to eviscerate him with her eyes - and her wand on more than one occasion - and actually acknowledged his presence when the mood suited her.

Overall, things were looking up.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed in satisfaction - only partly from his fullness.

There wouldn't be the massive amount of needless loss or pain this time around. No, this time Harry would protect them all, drag them kicking and screaming behind him if he had to.

This time would be different.

* * *

Author's Note:

Recently, someone posted a review for chapter three that brought up several interesting questions. I replied personally, but I also decided to post their review and my response here, for everyone to see:

_The rambling way you tried to justify not changing ANYTHING about the timeline fell kind of flat. He's supposedly an adult... who planned a break-in of Gringotts. Finding a way to reveal Pettigrew's continued existence and bring to light that Sirius Black never had a trial should be easy. Why does he think HE needs to be the one who brings this to light as well? Why not work through anonymous sources? He has access to an entire Owlery's worth of potential methods to send Rita Skeeter something to start her on her merry way._

_ {And the Blackmail material on said reporter as well}_

_ You talked about Sirius being "off-his-rocker". That is exactly how I would describe the thought-process of wee little Harry._

That is exactly what I was trying to point out without actually pointing it out. I have read several Time-Travel fics where Harry 'takes over' his younger self's body and in each and every one of them, his younger, malnourished body plays no hindrance to the magical and mental skills he had acquired before he was sent back. It was the main reasoning behind writing this fic.

Also, you are assuming that the previous years happened according to cannon. Obviously, this cannot be as I stated that Harry is at least a decade older than his actual physical age (and the war was still ongoing when he left), meaning somewhere along the way the timeline skewered. I also purposefully left out just what happened in his 5th, 6th, and 7th years; I can assure you that things will be different, possibly beginning at the end of his first year.

As for Harry's so-called planning; that too was intentional. The summary of this story states that planning is not Harry's forte as he charges ahead 'with little to no regard of consequences or plans of any sort', and I'm not saying things will go exactly how I listed them as with any plan that involves Harry Potter, something always goes wrong.

Perhaps I had been a little too subtle in pointing out the impediment to Harry's thought process. I hadn't wanted to blatantly state the fact and instead express it though his actions and reactions to the events he encountered. I will correct this if it becomes a significant issue.


	5. Chapter 5

Well, Harry didn't want to change everything; the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff went much the way he remembered it.

Snape came out, sneering at them all - more so at Gryffindor and Harry in particular; he made sure to sneer back.

Snape released the balls and blew his whistle. Harry couldn't help but snicker at that; it just sounded wrong.

Sneering Snape then proceeded to commit a number of 'questionable' calls in favor of Hufflepuff. Well, maybe not in favor of them so much as in against Gryffindor - they just happened to be playing them.

Harry spotted the snitch barely five minutes in and dive bombed toward it, snatching it out of the air before the majority of those in the stands even noticed something was happening.

Snape scowled at his remarkable feat, no doubt trying to think of a reason to not award Gryffindor the victory.

He found none.

Gryffindor won 180 - 40.

Afterwards Tonks came up to him - still decked in her sports garb, making Harry a little wary; the girl was scary enough without the added benefit of armor. She then proceeded to slug him on the shoulder, berate him for being a Quidditch-Seeking-prat, hug him in congratulations, and finally talk excitedly about his 'death-defying-dive'.

It was all rather confusing.

* * *

The rest of Feburary - along with all of March and most of April - passed in one seemingly endless blur.

It was some of the most mundane months Harry had ever had to endure, EVER.

He didn't get into trouble once. AND never even paid Madam Pomfrey a visit. The headaches caused by Quirrell-Mort didn't even make a show, thanks to the steady improvement of his Occulemency barriers - though, that particular problem would no longer be an issue if his theory about the Stone turned out to be true.

Classes were ridiculously easy, ALL pranking had basically been brought to an end after the Headmaster had warned the entire school - apparently not everyone appreciated Tonks' and Harry's, or the Twins', sense of humor - and Tonks became indisposed as she began focusing on the upcoming NEWT exams.

The only bright spots were getting Neville a proper wand - All he had to do was mention it once in Transfiguration and presto; Neville had a new wand. Seems he may have overthought the difficulty on that one - and dueling with Flitwick.

Neville had come up to him after - awkwardly mad and embarrassed at being singled out in class while trying to thank him at the same time. It was at that point that Harry extended an invitation to join him in his workouts - since the weather had become cooperative, Harry had taken to running around the actual pitch and, like everything else that happens at Hogwarts, it hadn't remained secret for long.

But Neville had waved him off, politely declining the offer and then going about his way. Harry shrugged it off, slightly disappointed, but realizing this Neville just wasn't as motivated as his older counterpart had been. Perhaps in a few years...

Flitwick had yet to move on to advanced spell-casting, instead focusing on tactics - knowing when to press, when to evade, when to shield, and how to disrupt the current flow of a duel. It was interesting and deffinately helpful, if a little bland.

Somehow, someway, Hermione had actually managed to wrangle both Ron and Harry into the library to study for their year-end exams - ten weeks in advance, mind you - along with further researching just what might be guarding the Stone. Harry was completely baffled as to how; one moment he was entertaining Ron by being thoroughly trounced in chess and the next he was following Hermione around the library like a pack mule as she plucked books from the shelves and dumped them into his waiting arms.

On top of everything, they were becoming damn heavy.

Seems events just have a knack for playing themselves out regardless of the situation as they rounded a bookcase and ran into - literary - none other than Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys.

Hermione, of course, saw the absurdity of the admittedly dim-witted groundskeeper rummaging through a library and pounced.

After spotting Hagrid in the library, they - Hermione - once again wiggled their way into meeting up with him later. Ron and Hermione to pester him over the Stone, but Harry just wanted the chance to see 'Norberta' again.

When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut a few hours after their run in, Hermione and Ron were acting suspicious as they eyed the closed curtains - another out-of-character incident. Hagrid gruffly called 'Who's there?' from behind the large oak door before he ushered them inside, quickly shutting the door as they stepped over the threshold.

Like last time, a fire was roaring in his hearth creating an uncomfortable, stifling-hot atmosphere in the small hut, despite it being an overly warm day in mid-April. Harry couldn't quite hold his chuckle as Hagrid bustled around his small home - acting remarkably like Molly Weasley - preparing tea and stoat sandwiches for the three first years, which even Ron politely refused.

Harry was surprised Ron hadn't noticed the similarities between the giant of a man and his mother, but then again, his friend had always been a bit oblivious to his surroundings.

"So - yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?" Hagrid asked, looking at Harry.

Harry shook his head negatively and pointed toward Hermione. She huffed and shot him an annoyed glare but answered nonetheless. "Yes, we were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Sorcerer's Stone apart from Fluffy." Well, no point in beating around the bush, there, huh Hermione?

Hagrid frowned at them.

"O' course I cant." He said. No shit. "Number one, don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That there Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts - I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."

Really Hagrid? Telling a school full of children to NOT go somewhere is a surefire way to ensure that they do. There was no way they were the only one's that had discovered Fluffy - Harry knew for certain the Twins had as well.

"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on around here," said Hermione in a warm, flattering voice. Hagrid's beard twitched and Harry could tell he was smiling. "We were only wondering who had set up the protections, really." She went on. "We were just curious who Dumbledore had entrusted to help him, apart from you, of course."

Hagrid's chest swelled at those last words. Ron's past future words describing their resident bookworm reverberated through his skull; 'brilliant, but scary'. Harry agreed.

"Just to ease our minds." She added when it seemed Hagrid was still on the fence. "You understand?"

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh then..." Poor Hagrid, so easily manipulated. "Let's see... I gave 'im Fluffy, o' course... then a few o' the teachers did set up some enchantments... Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall-" He ticked each one off on his fingers. "-Professor Quirrell - an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, an' Professor Snape."

Harry hadn't noticed the first time, but why exactly had Quirrell been involved? The other four were all heads of house with masteries in their chosen fields, Quirrell was a first year teacher with a background in Muggle Studies. If it looked like a set up and it felt like a set up, then most likely it's a set up. Not to mention the tasks themselves seemed to be designed specifically with Harry's group in mind.

And if that were true, then not only was the Stone bait, but Harry, himself, as well.

Harry narrowed his eyes at nothing, deciding that he would have to have not-so-nice words with the Headmaster after this whole Voldemort thing was over. If they both survived, that is.

"Snape?" Ron's incredulous voice brought his focus back to the conversation.

"Yeah - yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape's helpin' ter protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

Harry didn't need legimency to know what Ron and Hermione were thinking; if Snape was helping to protect the Stone, then it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers were guarding it as well. What they couldn't figure out, however, was why Snape hadn't already taken the Stone - or maybe they thought he had and was just biding his time to throw off suspicion. Harry hadn't come across Snape and Quirrell arguing this time around, and he sure as Hell hadn't said anything about it to Ron and Hermione.

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy. Right, Hagrid?" Ron asked hopefully. "And you haven't told anyone, have you? Not even one of the professors?"

Wow, Ron with actual forethought. Now he'd seen everything.

"Not a soul knows 'cept me an' Dumbledore." Hagrid boasted.

Harry knew that wasn't exactly true, Hagrid had already let it slip to his poker pal.

"Well, that's something." Hermione muttered 'discretely' to the others. Judging from Hagrid's reaction, he heard as well. "Hagrid, can you open a window, please? It's absolutely boiling in here." She fanned the collar of her robes in support of this statement.

"Can't, 'Ermione, sorry." Hagrid apologized, glancing anxiously at the fire, drawing the other three's attention to it.

"Hagrid - what's that?" Harry asked for the sake of moving things along.

But he already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black, dragon's egg.

"Ah," said Hagrid, plucking nervously at his beard, "That's er..."

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" Ron asked excitedly, crouching near the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

When the hell had Ron's seen a drag- oh, right. Charlie.

"Won it." Hagrid proclaimed proudly. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest." Hagrid frowned, unable to comprehend someone NOT wanting a dragon's egg.

"But, Hagrid, what are you planning to do with it after it's hatched?" Asked Hermione, always the logical one.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'." Hagrid began slowly, reaching for a large book tucked away under his pillow. "Got this outta the library - Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit - it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here." He tapped the cover for emphasis. "Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here - how ter recognize diff'rent eggs - what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

Hagrid didn't really answer her question, though neither of them seemed to notice.

On top of that, he looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn't.

"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house." She pointed out.

Hagrid wasn't listening, he was too busy humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

Ron and Hermione - mostly Hermione - seemed worried about what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut, Harry was rather indifferent. This was just the calm before the storm, the egg BEFORE the dragon. He would have rubbed his hands together in glee if Hermione wasn't already scowling at his lack of support.

He shrugged unapologetically.

"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life." Sighed Ron in exasperation, as it seemed more and more things continued to pile up. Harry wanted to tell him normalcy was overrated and unachievable with Harry Potter in your life.

* * *

A small measure of normalcy did return to their lives for the following few weeks. Again, Hermione began fretting as exams drew nearer and decided that since she was the only one taking them seriously, then it fell to her to reign the other two in. She ended up declaring herself taskmaster and handing out study guides for Harry and Ron. It was driving Harry bonkers.

Just to get back at her - yeah, it was a little petty - he started studying with Tonks, knowing that Hermione knew he was studying more advanced material.

Then, at breakfast one morning, Hedwig brought Harry a short note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: _It's hatching._

Ron wanted to ditch class and go straight down - Hermione would hear nothing of it.

"Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?" Ron argued.

Harry would be arguing too, if he didn't already know when the dragon would actually hatch.

"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing compared to the trouble Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing -"

"Shit!" Harry whispered.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, but he paid her no mind.

There, only a few feet away, was Malfoy - Harry had been daydreaming, letting his attention wander - and he had stopped dead to listen to their bickering. Harry didn't need to see the smug look on Malfoy's face to know that he had heard everything. Again.

And he'd really wanted to keep little Norberta much longer this time.

Class drug by exceedingly slow. Thankfully, before Harry hexed someone - Malfoy - in agitation or decided to simply skip the bell sounded, dismissing them all from class. The other's had to run just to keep pace and were breathless by the time they arrived at the edge of the forest. Hagrid was there to greet them, looking flushed and excited. Harry, most likely, returned his expression.

"It's nearly out." He ushered them inside. Harry would have pushed him aside if he was actually capable of pushing Hagrid.

The egg was lying at the center of the large oak slab that severed as Hagrid's table. Deep cracks were running along its surface, allowing glimpses of something moving inside to show through; an odd, clicking noise coming from it.

They all drew their chairs - which served as bar stools for the first years - up to the table and watched with bated breath. Harry was nearly bubbling over with excitement.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg suddenly split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table, embryotic fluid still clinging to it. It wasn't exactly pretty - though Harry expected and remembered that - but it still held some undefinable majestic beauty that all rare magical creatures did. It had huge, spiny wings that seemed too large for it's small, sleek body, with a long snout and wide nostrils. The stubs of horns could be seen adorning its head and bulging, orange eyes looked out at them.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flying out of its snout.

"Isn't 'e beautiful?" Hagrid murmured. Harry couldn't help but agree.

The half-giant reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, snarling at him and showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!" said Hagrid. Harry snickered. Some things never change.

"Hagrid." Hermione broke the serenity that had spread over them. "How fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

But Hagrid wasn't paying her any mind because, at the sound of her voice, the tiny dragon craned its spindly neck around toward the sound and it's amber eyes immediately found Harry's.

It croaked a pitiful sound, causing another bout of sparks to shoot out its mouth. Struggling, it climbed to it feet - wobbling unsteadily - before it shuffled over to Harry. It looked at him for a long moment before, without warning, it threw itself off the edge of the table - Hagrid gasped ridiculously - and plopped itself dead center of Harry's lap, where it proceeded to curl up onto itself and sleep.

Charlie - in the future - had once explained that dragons, and most other magical creatures, instantly seek out the most powerful, comforting presence after birthing. Now, that's usually its mother as males are most often not permitted to be near younglings until they've matured - the males tend to eat them. Something to do with maintaining dominance and eliminating a threat before it can develop.

Last time that presence had been Hagrid, who didn't possess the aura, the power, to ensure absolute obedience in a dragon so young, which was why his beard was constantly smoldering. This time, however, Harry was the most commanding, non-threatening, magical being in attendance to the horror of Ron and Hermione, the awe of Hagrid, and the glee of the boy in question.

They were all so completely engrossed in this new, amazing experience that they nearly missed Malfoy.

It was Hermione's sharp eye that caught him.

She leapt off her high seat and ran to the window, throwing the curtains open. After a deathly silent moment, she slowly turned to face them, face ashen and unshed tears glistening in her wide, fearful eyes.

"Oh, no." She shakily whispered.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked, worried as well.

"I saw - I saw someone - someone outside, looking through the curtains - it's - it's..." She trailed off, shaking her head back and forth.

"Who?" Ron all but demanded as Hagrid bolted to the door and threw it open, squinting his eyes up the path to Hogwarts.

"Malfoy." She whispered, destroying the previous joyous atmosphere.

They left soon after that, Hagrid all but forcing them out the door in case Malfoy went to Snape. Harry assured Hagrid he'd visit within the next few days - informing him that he would be bringing Tonks with him and promising to help name his newest pet. Thankfully, Harry had pointed out the hatchling's gender, so Norbert was already out.

* * *

Author's Note:

Forgot to put this the first time through, but I just wanted to go ahead and apologize for the blandness of this chapter and the next. They are mostly filler chapters, moving the story along - there wasn't much that I could/wanted to change concerning Hagrid and the Dragon, as without it you miss out on Harry receiving detention and his first encounter with Voldemort/Quirrell in the Forbidden Forest. I tried to change it up in the next chapter by interjecting a bit of Tonks, but they are largely uninspired and boring to read.


	6. Chapter 6

"Potter." Tonks growled out as she stumbled yet again on their trek down to Hagrid's. She wouldn't be stumbling over herself if he hadn't insisted on dragging her along by the arm.

She was irritated - and exhausted. She had been perfectly content studying - no matter what Potter said, she had NOT been sleeping - with her face firmly planted in the folds of her Charms textbook.

But NOOO! The annoying, cheeky, squirmy, crazy-eyed, little shit had yanked her from the bliss of sle-studying and was now dragging her on some merry adventure he had cooked up.

Even worse, he wouldn't tell her what was going on. Only eyeing her with those damn sparkly eyes and telling her 'Don't worry, you're going to love it.' She made sure to mock his somewhat high pitched voice in her head.

He KNEW she hated it when people kept stuff from her.

Her right hand twitched.

It would be so easy to hex the little bugger. He wasn't even looking at her, all she had to do was-

Harry turned around, an ingrained sense of self-preservation warning him about an impending attack. He saw Tonks slowly going for her wand and quickly released her hand.

They came to a stop, both refusing to back down.

"I promise, you'll regret it if you don't come." He told her soothingly, smiling reassuringly as well, after a long moment.

She eyed him for a minute before huffing and stomping along in front of him. "Well? Come along you little brat." She called over her shoulder.

Harry shook his head and chuckled before chasing after her.

Tonks narrowed her eyes as Hagrid's cabin came into focus - along with the half-giant himself. Unlike usual, the large man was there to greet them outside his hut, literally twiddling his thumbs and trying his hardest to look inconspicuous. At eleven and a half feet tall; he was failing.

Tonks couldn't help herself, she was already curious and not a little wary - Hagrid's love of 'misunderstood' creatures was no secret to her.

Harry sighed as he saw Hagrid waiting for them. He had told the man to be discreet about things, nonchalant - so, of course he decided to greet them personally all the while fidgeting like a nervous first year about to be sorted.

He further displayed his amazing ability to remain incognito by barely opening the door for them - as if normal people done that. Harry motioned for Tonks to go first - she had to turn sideways just to slip through the narrow opening - before following after.

In hindsight, it may not have been his brightest idea; to send a person into a small, confined area unaware of a certain issue.

There was a shriek. Followed by a rather colorful orchestra of cursing and a number of things being knocked over as someone - Tonks - was attempting to flee from her pursuer.

Harry ducked his head - he would no doubt receive an earful later - and shuffled the rest of the way in.

The scene that met him was most amusing.

Tonks was in the far corner of the small hut, standing atop a barrel of mead Hagrid had tucked away - her eyes were impossibly wide and her hair a limp, mousy brown. She had procured one of Hagrid's large wooden chairs and was wielding it like a lion tamer, fending off the overly-ferocious two and a half foot tall Norwegian Ridgeback. Harry supposed he shouldn't be too hard on her, it was a dragon, but she did look ridiculous.

Tonks caught sight of him - and even worse, his grin. Her steel gray eyes held a slight pleading expression laced with no small amount of anger, compelling him to take action before he had first-hand experience with Tonks' 'Nutt Duster' - an excruciatingly painful, near lethal (for the male gender at least), maneuver that combined a modified petrification, stinging, and swelling charm with good ol' blunt force trauma aimed straight at the family jewels.

It was the first and last time that particular Ravenclaw decided to slap her ass. Harry remembered watching on in morbid curiosity as the poor guy pleaded his innocence - in truth he may have been - before he had winced and looked away as Tonks delivered her judgment.

"Lillian!" He barked, now properly motivated.

Hagrid had actually suggested the name after the little sass had displayed a VERY fiery temperament - when dealing with Hagrid and Fang at least - and they had noticed the small horns adorning the crest of her head and along her spine were a deep - near black - red. Harry had quickly agreed, admittedly sniffling at the name as it brought forth images of the mother he never knew.

Said dragon's dark little head perked up - remarkably similar to a puppy - and she glanced over her shoulder at him.

Her wings fluttered in what Harry had come to recognize as delight, before she bounded over to him - again, remarkable like a dog. Perhaps Fang was to blame? She croaked her pitiful sounding wail while nipping at his trousers in affection.

Harry sighed, recognizing the familiar routine.

He shuffled over to the large couch and plopped down. Immediately Lillian clawed her way up the furnishing before limply falling into his lap and curling up. Harry held out his hand - as was expected. The small dragon sniffed it, butted her head against it, and promptly fell asleep.

Throughout all this Tonks had remained in her corner - though not for safety but in astonishment - as her jaw had continued to slowly drop more and more. Hagrid had bustled in at some point and watched the scene in a mixture of pride and wistful joy - his eyes mysteriously shining.

A thud resounded throughout the suddenly silent hut as Tonks dropped the heavy chair, dropping down from her perch as she did so and cautiously approached him.

"What- What the hell is that!?" She asked breathlessly, standing slightly behind Hagrid for protection.

Harry chuckled. He was enjoying this too much.

"This Nymphadora," His voice imitating Dumbledore's 'lecture tone' as he ran the pads of his fingers across the oddly smooth scales. "Is a dragon. A Norwegian Ridgeback to be exact."

"I-I-I know that smartass." She stuttered indignantly. "And don't call me Nymphadora." She muttered under her breath, too distracted by Harry casually petting a DRAGON curled up in his lap to take offense.

"But-" She gestured with her hand toward the creature. "-what the hell?"

He ignored her for a few seconds knowing that it irritated her - Tonks was as bad as Hermione when it came to unsolved questions - while he ran his fingers over the rounded ridges along Lillian's back.

"Well, you see-" He began, pausing for increased irritation. "Technically, I guess you could say Lillian is Hagrid's Dragon."

"Now, Harry." Hagrid cut him off. "She's as much yours as mine. 'Specially with how smitten she is with yeh."

Harry just nodded along in agreement, already having had this argument before. "Right, but somewhat legally, she belongs to Hagrid. Anyways, Hagrid here won her in a game of poker a few weeks ago, he incubated the egg within the fire, and she hatched a little over two weeks ago."

He shrugged, not sure what exactly the question 'What the hell?' pertained to, but nevertheless covered the bases.

Thankfully, his admittedly vague answers seemed to mollify her - she remained silent for a few moments as she almost subconsciously shuffled forward, her eyes never leaving the slumbering dragon as she nervously rung her hands. Hagrid had ignored the duo after lingering for a moment and was rummaging around his hut, throwing together some type of slop for Fang.

"Um..." She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Can-Can I touch it?" She whispered.

Harry grinned devilishly at her. "Now Tonksie-" She hated that almost as much as 'Nymphadora'. "That's a bit forward of you."

She glared at him - the Tonks he knew and loved reasserting herself in the face of his slight. "Not that you perverted hormonal midget!"

Now that was low. Poking fun at his rather sensitive emotions and vertically challenged issues. He made sure to put extra emphasis on his protruding bottom lip.

She seemed immune to his posturing.

She rolled her eyes at him - not buying the over exaggerated pout - and put her hands on her hips. "Well?" She asked impatiently.

"Sure." He agreed and waited until she was moving forward before continuing. "But if your hand gets bitten, then infected, and has to be amputated make sure to leave my name out of it."

She paused for a moment, then altered her course and chose the spot opposite the direction the dragon's head was facing. Of course, Harry wasn't about to tell her that she had almost no chance of being bitten at the moment as Lillian became a scaly, mushy glob of baby when she was in his lap. Best to hold this one over her for a bit.

She reached out a tentative hand and lightly brushed the scales along one wing. "They're smooth." She whispered in awe, a bright grin spreading over her features.

Several minutes of them absently stroking Lillian - who had begun to purr - passed before either said anything.

"Thanks."

It was Tonks.

"For this I mean." She clarified at Harry's questioning look. "I know I've been a bitch lately and stressed out and everything, but I really needed this and appreciate it. So... thanks." She nudged his shoulder.

Harry lifted one shoulder in a shrug, careful not to disturb the sleeping dragon. "Ahh, it's no problem. I mean sure, you've mentally scarred me for life with your immaturity and I'm risking expulsion by being here, but it's all fine. No need to thank me or get me an extra-awesome present for my birthday on July thirty-first or anything."

She hit him a little harder this time and rolled her eyes at his antics. Leave it to him - the most mature adolescent person she knew to ruin a perfectly good, sincere moment between the two.

She grinned mischeviously.

Making sure Harry was distracted, she subtly flicked her wand, morphing his hair into a bright shade of green. After all, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

* * *

All too soon it came time to break Hagrid's heart.

Malfoy had been smiling at them - Harry was going to assume the smile was meant to be evil. Really, it was just creepy - for the better part of a fortnight. As such, they - Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Tonks had returned to being the reclusive Ravenclaw - spent most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

Well, Ron and Hermione reasoned. Harry played a version of 'hide and go seek' with Lillian.

He would hide a medium sized, conjured ball and she would try to burn the hut down looking for it. It was sometimes scarily adorable at how much Lillian acted like a dog.

"Just let her go." Harry overheard Ron argue. "Set her free."

"I can't." Sniffled Hagrid. "She's too little. She'd die."

They all three looked over at the dragon. It had grown three times in length since hatching, standing at just over three and a half feet tall now. Smoke was furling out of her nostrils as she happily bounded across the floor, the smoldering remains of a tennis ball in her maw. Harry took the time to glance at Hagrid, noticing this time around just how much the dragon was wearing on him.

He looked like shit.

Granted an enormous pile of shit, but shit just the same.

His hair was unkempt - more so than usual - with heavy bags under his eyes, he had numerous bandages wrapped around his bleeding hands, and his beard was uneven from being burnt. He hadn't even been tending to his Gamekeeping duties because Lillian was keeping him so busy, his only respite being when Harry dragon-sat for him.

Even his little hut seemed stressed to the point of breaking. Scorch and claw marks could be found on almost every piece of furniture - including the walls and curtains. Littering the floor were empty brandy bottles, chicken feathers, and the odd remains or two of dead rats. Fang was tucked safely into a corner, refusing to leave, occasionally slapping his tail against the floor and whining.

Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "She really knows me now, watch. Lillian! Lils! Where's Mummy?" The response was a stream of fire released after a particularly troublesome belch.

"He's lost his marbles." Ron muttered none too quietly.

"Hagrid." said Harry loudly, interrupting the argument between the half-giant and Hermione. "We're gonna have to get rid of her. Give it two weeks and Lil's wont be able to fit through your door. Not to mention Malfoy could go to Dumbledore or Snape at any moment."

Hagrid bit his lip, expressing how much closer he was to Harry than the others when he didn't argue.

"I-I know I can't keep 'er forever, but I can't jus' dump 'er, I can't." He shook head emphatically.

Harry turned to Ron. "Charlie." He stated, a hint of surprise in his voice as if he just thought of the dragon-handler.

"You're losing it, too." Ron scrutinized him. "I'm Ron, remember?" He added slowly.

Ron's head rocked back as the sound of skin slapping skin reverberated throughout the cabin. Ron's forehead was left with a red imprint of Harry's palm.

"No, you dunderhead. Charlie, as in your brother. The same Charlie that's in Romania, studying dragons. We could send Lillian to him."

"Brilliant!" Ron agreed before rubbing his forehead and frowning thoughtfully. "Why didn't you just say that?"

Harry shrugged unapologetically. "Not as fun."

Ron grumbled in response, something about spending too much time around Tonks. Harry ignored him to turn back to Hagrid. "So, how about it Hagrid?" He asked.

Eventually, Hagrid agreed to the idea as long as Charlie was on board. Hedwig was on her way to Romania within the hour.

* * *

Wednesday night found Harry sitting comfortably in front of the fireplace - its warmth slowly lulling him to sleep - with Hermione close by reading from her transfiguration text.

Harry had been in a deep introspective - well, as deep as Harry ever went - for the past few hours. His thoughts had, of course, revolved around the future - this future, not his - and just when he was going to change things. At first he had been reluctant to change too much too soon - future Hermione's warning about people who meddled with time played on a constant loop in his mind - slightly afraid he would blunder things so bad that this future would be even worse than his.

Thankfully, the longer he stayed, the clearer his mind became - his first few days here, his mind was actually fuzzy and he was incapable of complicated thought - and he had already altered his original 'plans'. In fact, until recently he still had trouble focusing for long periods of time - proof of the disparity between a twenty and an eleven year old's mental capacities.

At first he had been adamant to allow things to play out as they wont until forth year, but now... now he wasn't too sure. He still didn't want or need to change too much and tip his hand - there was more than one person who could take what was in his head and create a nightmarish future, but he could still work from the shadows, subtly shifting events to work in his favor.

He had also reevaluated his plans for Sirius - talk about feeling like a dick when he realized his grand plan was to leave the man to rot in Azkaban for the next few years. He had literally smacked his head, earning an odd look from Hermione.

So, now operation Save Sirius was in the initial stages of development.

If he could somehow get ahold of his parents Will then he would have all the excuses he would ever need to look into Sirius' current situation. Unfortunately, Dumble-Dick had sealed the thing and Gringott's never allowed their personal copies to be viewed - both had moved up Harry's Shit List to numbers four and seven, respectively.

His other idea was to somehow wiggle his way into spending part of the coming summer with the Tonks' and maneuver them into mentioning his Godfather. That one had too much left up to chance so he was still trying to find a way to get his hands on James' Will.

Unfortunately, the anonymous route was impossible as there must be a name attached to all official inquiries dealing with imprisoned Death Eaters.

He had also decided to round up the Horcrux's - or at least the ones he could get to. That meant Ravenclaw's Diadem - which was safe for now - the Slytherin Lordship Ring, Slytherin's Locket, and Tom's Diary.

And his head. Cant forget that one.

The diary would fall into his hands this summer and the locket was inaccessible until he freed Sirius, so that left the ring as his sole focus. Just great... the only one he could go after was the very same one that destroyed Dumbledore.

Oh, it hadn't killed him. No, it had done far, far worse. Turning the epitome of Magical Strength into little more than an old, senile squib. He shuddered just thinking about the protections it must have surrounding it. Nonetheless, he would still try tackling the problem - perhaps not this summer but definitely the next. It helped that he had one distinct advantage over Dumbledore; he was a Parselmouth. Most of the protections Voldemort put around anything revolved around the magical language, so it should help him in some way.

It was near midnight, explaining the emptiness of the common room, when the portrait hole seemed to open on its own accord - drawing Harry from his thoughts. A moment later, Ron appeared out of nowhere as he pulled off the invisibility cloak. He had been down at Hagrid's hut helping with Lillian - Hermione had established a rotation so that they were never there at the same time, hopefully to throw off suspicion.

"It bit me!" He exclaimed as soon as he noticed them, brandishing his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody cloth. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week." He didn't seem too upset with that prospect. "I tell you, Lillian's the most horrible creature ever, but the way you and Hagrid go on, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny. When it bit me he scolded me for frightening it. And when I left, I swear I heard him singing a lullaby."

"Um, Ron?" Harry started but they were interrupted by a tap on the window.

It was Hedwig with Charlie's response.

He had agreed - just like Harry knew he would - asking them to meet some friends of his at midnight Saturday on the Astronomy Tower.

"We've got my father's invisibility cloak." Harry shrugged. "Shouldn't be too difficult - all three of us easily fit underneath it. So, two of us and Lillian shouldn't be a problem."

It was a mark of how miserable Lillian was making the others that they eagerly agreed. Well, her and Malfoy's persistent nature.

It was as Harry and Ron heading to bed after biding Hermione goodnight that he remembered having been cutoff.

"Hey Ron." He called as they approached the first year dorms. "You do know that dragon's fangs are poisonous, right?"

Ron looked down at his bandaged hand before shrugging. "I'll go see Madam Pomfrey in the morning if it's bad." Harry paused for a moment before mimicking his action - safe in the knowledge that it wouldn't kill him.

* * *

Author's Note:

Unfortunately, my classes will be starting back up this coming week, so I will be dropping the weekly updates and aiming for every two weeks.

Now, I know I didn't mention Hufflepuff's Cup, so there is no need to berate me for that - I was only listing the ones he could potentially access and I have changed the protections surrounding and possibly the location of the Cup. I listed the ring as the Slytherin Lordship Ring for a plot device I may or may not use and because I am still undecided if the Hallows will ever be mentioned/used in this story.

One last thing; I didn't really have time to scan over this chapter to look for spelling/grammatical errors, so if you see any please KINDLY point them out for me.

As always, thanks for reading.


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